Strike Team: DELTA
by ImagineDragon Bastille
Summary: A collection of one-shots illustrating Strike Team Delta's adventures and mishaps before and after the Avengers.
1. Geneva, Switzerland

**This one-shot takes place before the Avengers, Thor, and Ironman 2. Please review and tell me what you think! Requests and constructive criticism is always welcome :)**

Geneva, Switzerland

"What do we have?" Clint caught up to Natasha, who was also making her way to the hangar.

"Some kind of hostage situation, I think." She said. "And given how little time we were given beforehand, a pretty urgent one at that."

"Good, you're here. I'll brief you when were in the air." Natasha raised her eyebrows at Clint, proving her point of urgency.

"Three hours ago, a group of mercenaries led by Alexander McDaniels" Coulson swiveled a port screen to display a Caucasian man with generic brown hair. His features were in every way generic, save a long scar marring his face from his eye to his mouth.

"infiltrated a United Nations meeting and took several very influential members hostage and left half a dozen people dead. They're currently holed up here." Coulson projected a 3D model of a building.

"Time is of the essence, as we don't know how much longer we can stall negotiations and keep them alive. We have identified at least 30 hostiles in the building alone, which is why we need a small two-man team to infiltrate the building and free the hostages. There's no way a full tac team can take down that many people without any casualties. Once you have secured the hostages, your way out will be through the old sewer system with a quinjet waiting at the end. You'll have to find another way in because as soon as we disable the surveillance for that area, an alarm will sound." Coulson said.

"Tech?" Clint prompted.

"For this mission you guys get all the new gear: personalized firearms that will only respond to your hand, discs, contact lenses fitted with x-ray and infrared vision, all our new toys." Natasha and Clint cracked a smile.

"And to get past all the security, Jack here has hacked his way into their system, and can feed them loops, so you don't have to worry about surveillance cams."

"How do these work?" Clint asked, squinting through his eyes, hoping it would activate the contacts.

"Blink twice for x-ray and three times for infrared."

"And these discs?" Natasha said, pulling out a disc the size of a quarter.

"Those are electrically charged, similar to your Widow's Bites. Throw them at something and the impact will release the charge, electrifying them."

"Got it."

Natasha looked at Clint and he nodded confirmation. Without further hesitation, Natasha swung open the door as Clint immediately stepped through.

"All clear." He muttered to her. Swiftly, the pair crossed to where another hall intersected. The hostages were in the top floor, meaning they had to make their way up four flights of stairs unnoticed.

"I have movement. Two people coming towards us." The two unfortunate guards rounded the corner only to meet Strike Team Delta. Before his adversary could react, Clint swiftly struck his windpipe. The man staggered back, gasping for air, and Clint finished him off with a blow to the head. Natasha's adversary, however, proved to be slightly more adept. He ducked under her punch to his temple and aimed a punch at her gut. Natasha blocked with both hands and twisted his wrist. As he struggled, Clint came up behind him and struck him on the head with the butt of his gun.

"I had him." Natasha grumbled.

"I know," Clint said with a cheeky grin. "I just finished him off for you."

"C'mon, they'll notice their absence soon."

"Is it just me or is it too quiet?" Clint asked as they ascended the fourth stairwell. Natasha paused to consider.

"Nope, they've probably found the ones we've left behind by now and know something's up." Calculating, Clint glanced to the ceiling as he explored alternative options.

"I can get inside and free the hostages if you think you can hold them off long enough."

The pair reached the top of the stairwell.

"Running out of time," Clint warned. "Let's make a decision."

"I can take them."

With start, Clint leapt into the air, pushed off the side railing, and launched himself into the air vent. Natasha blinked twice and her vision changed. After carefully scrutinizing the position of the guards and their most probable reactions, Natasha pushed open the door and rolled in a smoke bomb. Immediately, confused shouting bubbled from the smoke. While the guards were temporarily immobilized by their impaired vision, Natasha attacked.

The first guard didn't even know what hit him. One minute he was blindly trying to make his way to the exit, and the next, he was on the ground with a broken rib. By the time Natasha made it to the second guard, the smoke had begun to clear and he managed to block her strike. After a moment, however, he joined his comrade on the floor, wheezing.

As she finished her third victim (there was not much of a fight), a blunt force from the behind knocked her forward. Natasha flew forward a couple of feet and landed on her side. Before Natasha could recover enough to get up, her attacker thrust a knife at her, which would have split her skull, had she not rolled out of the way. Natasha twisted and swept her assailant's feet from under him. He landed on his back, but once more advanced into an attack. Natasha jumped back to avoid his knife and used that small opening to strike him. He stumbled back slightly. Shouts filled the hallway behind her. Natasha whirled around to face half a dozen more guards.

She used the first's momentum to throw him to the floor – he wouldn't be getting back up anytime soon. One swung at her, but Natasha went with his motion and forced him back into another guard.

A slight movement caught her peripheral vision and a searing pain ripped through her side as Natasha turned to face it. Hunkered down on one knee, Natasha took a disc and threw it. Natasha twirled out of the way of a charging man and snagged his handcuffs from his belt on the way past. The man, resembling a bull, turned and charged again. Natasha stepped neatly out of the way, reaching out at the last second and spinning the man. The guard fell with a crash and his head hit the floor and bounced back up, only to meet the hard, unforgiving knee of Natasha.

Natasha grimaced, partly from the pain in her side, and partly for the remorse she felt for that man. She hadn't meant to kill him. As a general rule, Natasha preferred not to kill people - making them live their lives full of regret punished them more than the mercy of death. She had come to that conclusion from experience.

The last two guards were more wary. Natasha blocked a series of kicks, stepping back as she did so. One swung down at her with a baton and Natasha blocked it. Grabbing the baton, Natasha twisted it out of his grasp and delivered a crunching blow to his ribs. A knife came whirling for her head and Natasha ducked out of the way. The final guard made to stab her over the head, but Natasha blocked it. He dropped the knife and caught it in his other hand and advanced once more with a stab to her gut. Natasha jumped out of the way, but the distance she had aimed to achieve was cut short. As she collided with the wall, Natasha twisted away from the knife. The man's weight had been behind the stab, and he stumbled forward and caught himself with the wall. Natasha turned and kneed him in the ribs. In response, the guard delivered an uppercut to her gut. Natasha blocked. With his other hand, the guard twisted her arm to the point of breaking. Pain engulfed her arm as Natasha reached across with the other hand and struck his throat. Hard. He fell to the ground gasping for air. There was a cold determination that only clouded her eyes when Natasha had disappeared into the Black Widow. She used her heel to kick his temple – not enough to kill, but enough to impair for life.

Natasha made her way through the sea of bodies with her broken left arm clutched protectively to her side towards the room in which the hostages were being kept.

Natasha blinked twice and the various shades of black and white appeared. Inside the room, there were 5 figures, huddled in the back, presumably the hostages. But directly in front of the door stood two figures, one in front of the other with a gun buried in the small of his back.

 _Shit_ Natasha thought _what have you gotten yourself into Barton?_

Slowly, she eased open the door.

"You make a move and he dies." McDaniels said. Natasha surveyed the room. The five hostages were in the back of the room, evidently unsure of what to do or what was going to happen. Six black clad men lay on the ground, unconscious. And Clint looked downright pissed. From the way his arm was held, his left shoulder was probably dislocated and a deep purple bruise had begun to mottle his left cheek. His hands hung loosely down by his hips, next to his empty holster. McDaniels himself held the gun in his right arm, burying the muzzle into Clint's back. Meanwhile, his left arm hung loosely by his side, next to his own gun, which remained in its holster. Natasha took this in and had analyzed the best course of action before McDaniels had even finished his threat.

Slowly, she dropped her gun to the floor raised her hands in surrender. "Well played Mr. McDaniels."

He snorted. "You really think I believe that you're unarmed? You," he nudged Clint forward with the gun, "Go frisk her."

"Whatever you say." Clint muttered.

"I have the gun, so you do whatever I say smartass." Before McDaniels finished his insult, Clint took a half step forward before turning in a tight circle to his right and knocking off course. An earsplitting ring resonated and the bullet had strayed off its course, burying itself harmlessly in the wall. As Clint whirled out of the way, Natasha flung a disc at McDaniels.

With the imminent danger gone, the hostages sprung into life.

"Where are we going?"

"Who _are_ these people."

"What are we going to do?"

"How did you even manage to be taken at gunpoint anyways?" Natasha teased as a medic popped his shoulder back into place.

"Don't do anything to strain you shoulder until you've been cleared, otherwise the ligaments will continue to get more stretched and won't be able to heal. Are we clear Agent Barton?" the medic asked.

"I was busy taking the last guy down when McDaniels took me." Clint said defensively, disregarding the medic. "What took _you_ so long to come?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that there were about ten guards in that hallway."

"Are we _clear_ Agent Barton?"

"Yes." Clint grumbled.


	2. Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Although the sun had long since begun its descent, the heat still entrapped the inhabitants in its sticky, humid web. As a general summer rule, physical activity was limited to the bare necessities, such walking into an air-conditioned vehicle and walking from an air-conditioned vehicle. For the inhabitants of Ho Chi Minh City who were not so fortunate as to have access to air conditioning, or anything of that sort, the meager sliver of shade that the awnings provided would have to make due. Waiting for the day's heat to waver and occupied by their various electronic devices, nobody noticed the _thump_ as a body unceremoniously landed in a garbage heap, having fallen from the second story of a shabby set of apartments.

Clint groaned as he landed. He struggled for a few moments, unsuccessfully trying to sit up (the garbage kept shifting, making his task very difficult). Wincing, he finally leveled himself from his supine position into a more dignified posture Clint surveyed his immediate surroundings with an expression of slight dismay, for he found himself amidst rotting fish, scraps of cans, discarded food that was in the process of decomposing, and what appeared to be a week-dead cat, among other things. At the immediate moment however, Clint honestly didn't give a shit about the refuse he was currently situated in. All he cared about was the burly henchmen who he had narrowly escaped from. _Why can't anything be simple these days? Just this once. Just this one time._ Clint complained to his conscious.

He and Natasha had been sent to this sweltering peninsulato recover a file whose contents held the means to decimate a population of 10,000 in a miniscule amount of time. Needless to say the temporary – at least he hoped – owner of the file had not been so compliant in giving up his new leverage. Natasha had swiped the file, but on the way out, during the mayhem, they had gotten separated. As he fought his way out, Clint had gotten a nasty gash in his side. That had been less than thirty minutes ago, and he already felt the grips of a combination of blood loss and concussion pulling him into a feverish state. Clint fumbled into a pocket and pulled out his phone. Blearily, he punched in his speed dial.

"Clint?" Natasha's voice answered. "Where are you?"

"Duuuumpster" Clint mumbled as he realized he had absolutely no idea where he was.

"More Specific, c'mon Clint, focus." Natasha had clearly grasped that Clint was not in the best state of minds.

Despite his delirious state and concussion, Clint managed to recall the limited Vietnamese he had **picked up** over the years. "Nh…. Nhan Ti…. ệm tiệm Thu…ốc. Nhan tiệm thuốc." (Nhan Pharmacy). Deciphering the drugstore's sign had taken him to his momentary mental limits and Clint succembed to the cloud of blackness.

He dreamt he was back in Iowa with his family, if you could call it that.

"You were always so ungrateful, you little b*tch" His father swas screaming at him. "I gave you a roof to put over your sorry head. I fed you." Walter Barton had started off as a well off businessmen. But then the economy crashed. And he found himself with a looming debt, which only increased. So Walter turned to alcohalism, much to the misfortune of his two sons.

"This isn't real" Clint tried to spit the words out, but as so often happens in dreams, his words stuck in his throat.

"Don't. You. Be. Ungrateful." Walter punctuated each word with a devasting blow upon his son. Although they primarily landed in his core, it was his head that was splitting. Helpless, Clint curled into a ball, waiting for the blows to cease.

Then he back in the circus. Only this time, he was in the lions' cage. Uncertainly, he backed up, essentially cornering himself between their gaping jaws and the bars. Then, the lions morphed into his brother, brandishing a knife.

"Barney." He queried with slight panic"What are you doing?"

"What I should've done months ago." He snarled. "You need to learn how to keep minding your own business Clinton."

"Stop, please." He **cried**. But his brother continued to advance, no shimmer of mercy in his eyes. And then there was a searing pain.

Clint bolted awake, but the searing pain continued. His whole side was one fire, engulfing his whole being in a fiery, hellish torment. It was as if his flesh was being carved out with a molten, scalding knife. Someone had stuffed his mouth with something, muffling his agonizing screams. He involuntariy thrashed, trying to escape from the fiery hell, but a strong forearm barred most of his movement.

"Please just pass out." A voice muttered. "Just pass out." Finally, the scorching pain became overwhelming and Clint complied with the voice and fell into unconsiousness.

This time Clint's dream took him back to an old abandoned boxing ring in South Detroit. Except it was not Barney and several of his companions this time as it had been in in reality. Natasha advanced towards him with a dull, emotionless expression.

"Natasha...?" He said uncertainly.

"Oh, that's not Natasha." A voice outside the ring rang out. Clint swiveled his head and found himself looking at Ivan. Although he had never personally met Ivan, Clint had dedicated the face to memory as an accomplice of the Black Widow when he had been tasked with killing her.

"...Natalia." Clint slowly said Natasha's given, Russian name.

"Oh, you're a bright one." Ivan said. "Natalia, you know what to do." By the time Ivan faded once more into the darkness, Natasha had come within striking distance. She swung a punch at him. Clint ducked underneath and circled behind her.

"Natasha, this isn't you." Natasha said nothing, only continuing her onslought. Clint ducked and paried, but couldn't find it within himself to retaliate with an offense of his own. Natasha, however, was not so restrained. Clint found himself tiring at an exponential rate and his reflexes were becoming less and less repsonsive. Natasha clipped his temple and Clint twisted with the force. He stumbled into the perimeter rope and an excruciating pain erupted in his side. Natasha landed another blow upon his breaking form.

Clint drifted in and out of consiousness. Memories and reality flashed through him, leaving him unable to discern the past from the present.

When he woke up, Clint found himself not in the filth he had passed out in the first time, but lying on cold cement. After a quick bodily report that clarified that pretty much everything hurt, Clint ventured to sit up, but the same searing pain that had tormented him returned.

"Clint, stop. You'll just hurt yourself more."

"N'tasha?" He mumbled as he turned towards the voice and slowly, Natasha came into focus. "Where are we?"

"Some abandoned building." Natasha said, kneeling down next to him and checking his side. "When I found you in that garbage heap you were bleeding pretty bad, so I took you here. Then they jammed all outgoing signals and cut the power in the whole neighborhood. They want that file back."

"You have it?" Clint slurred. Natasha nodded in response. Despite her former caution, Clint tired once again to sit up. And once again, Natasha pushed him back down.

"Shit shit shit _shit_. Why does this hurt so much?"

"You were still losing a lot of blood, so I had to improvise and cauterize the wound." Well, that explained the burning.

"Why is it so cold in here?"

"Clint, its probably about 90 degrees right now. You have a fever."

"So were stuck here, with no way out, no way of communicating our situation to HQ, and I'm sick. That's great."

"That pretty much sums it up" Natasha sighed. "The one good thing is that the local authorities are not affiliated with the people currently hunting for us, so they'll be on our side."

Although, ironically, it was the summer solstice and therefore the shortest night of the year, to Clint and Natasha, that night couldn't have been longer. Clint kept dozing off and then wake up, having forgotten everything. And Natasha had to keep repeating the events that had transpired, having realized that not only was Clint suffering from serious blood loss and an infection, but also a concussion.

By the time an evac teamreached them, Clint was even more delusional and Natasha was worn even more thin. On the quinjet, the pair promptly fell asleep, although Clint's sleep was considerably more medically induced.

 **Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought or if you have any ideas :)**


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